Did I have some atrocious spelling errors in my last couple of blogs or what? I'm blaming in on the Malware. I had a vicious little gremlin hiding deep in the bowels of my hard drive; it took 2 days to figure out where it was and then fix it. In the meantime, I dealt with random pop-ups inviting me to increase both the size of my pen!s AND my boobs. And, while typing on the blog, random letters just sort of didn't reach the screen from my keyboard. Fun times.Irony? Mr. Clean works in an IT type environment. This is our third virus/malware in as many years (McAfee only goes so far when you have a teenager borrowing your computer). And yet... this is the third time now *I* was the one who had to fix things. Mr. Clean mumbled something about me being more apt to locate little things in the background (true) and if it was in some sort of SQL code he could have gotten it (also true, but still)... and then he left quickly to go work on something involving wood and cutting tools.All that to say: I really CAN spell.Something else I can do really well? Kill baby plants. Oh yes, indeedy I can commit me some serious baby plant murder. All of my herbs are outside in pots and looking just lovely in their green glory - even after a three-day round of storms and temperature drops blew in on high winds the day after I transplanted them. Every tomato seedling I had in the house, protected from all that weather? Dead little withered strings hanging from the tops of their peat pods. I SUCK at growing stuff. The sad part? I'm $140 into this thing and if I give up now, I've essentially WASTED all that money. Do you know how many books that could have bought?? Gahhh!I'm not giving up yet. I do think - however - that I just may be buying some established tomato plants instead of trying to coax them up from seeds. What really stinks about that -- one of the cherry tomato plants I was trying to tempt into living produces little WHITE fruits. I don't think I'll be finding that one in an established plant unless I order online, and I'm a little nervous about something like that reaching me through the mail, STILL ALIVE. At this point, I'm basically convinced that gardening in a pain in the ass. Necessary but still a pain.Instead of holding little tomato seedling funerals, though, I decided to get busy with my Clean-Up-Clean-Up-Clean-Up plan. Yesterday, I spent five hours cleaning out my office. Yes, HOURS. It took a lot of coffee, very loud music, half a spray can of Pledge, two enormous garbage bags, and half an hour in front of a paper shredder that sounded like it was dying of engine failure. At the end, though, I found an actual real, honest-to-goodness DESK beneath all that detritus (accumulated over a few years of tossing papers down over my shoulder). A DESK! And boy is it pretty. I now have an entire corner set up just for my writing stuff, another tiny area for work-related items (most of which is being shipped back to my real office desk as soon as I go in for a work day), and then a spot for all the home-related stuff we have going on in our build-our-own-house saga. In between, I have a four-foot expanse of EMPTY DESK space and it's just so lovely. I feel fresh and free and ready to write. Yippee!Mr. Clean came home after a long day running kids between baseball practices, took one look at the office, raised his eyebrows at me (looking all smug in my cleaning glory) and said: Are you sick? He asks this question every time I clean. If I'm to be honest, it's not without merit. I usually DON'T clean unless I AM sick... and really? I was totally sick in that bogged-down-can't-find-my-brain type of way. Seriously. I think my brain has been acting as a mirror, reflecting all the piled up crap, old stuff, and lost things so vividly it was affecting my basic cognitive functions. Need proof?We took Doodlebug out for a birthday lunch and movie day last Saturday. GypsyRose (sis), her boyfriend, and my Mom were all invited to come along as well. This past Wednesday, Doodlebug received a package from my Mom in the mail; a birthday present. As he was calling to thank her for the gift, my heart plummeted in my chest. I'd meant to call her on Saturday, to tell her we were sorry she hadn't been able to come along with us, and - like everything else these days - had forgotten. Oh lordy, did I feel about as low as a bug squashed beneath a shoe. After Doodlebug talked to her, I took the phone from him and immediately fell all over myself apologizing, tears of guilt springing up in my eyes. How could I have FORGOTTEN my mother? Me: I just realized I didn't call you to say we really missed you on Saturday. Mom: What?Me: I'm really sorry, Mom! Really. Sorry. I swear I didn't forget you... except that, yeah, I think I did. I just have so much going on; I'm surprised I didn't forget Doodlebug's birthday entirely. Mom: *silence*Me: It's a sad excuse, I know. Please don't be angry with me. I'll make it up to you, I swear. Mom: *silence*Me: I'm a bad, bad daughter. I know this. Are you going to talk to me at least?Mom: Umm, Daughter, are you feeling okay?Me: No! I'm not. Apparently I'm forgetting important things, like making sure my mother doesn't feel like we didn't care if she was at lunch with us or not.Mom: I'm really worried about you, Daughter.Me: So am I... wait, why are you worried about me?Mom: Well, for one, I was AT LUNCH WITH YOU ALL.Yeah. There's that. I got all worked up into tears over forgetting to call my mom after she didn't show up for lunch... except she'd really made it to lunch to begin with. If that doesn't scream Cluttered-Brain or Possible-Brain-Tumor, I don't know what does. So I cleaned. And now I feel refreshed. I'm still considering an MRI on my grey matter, though. I think some of that Malware may have infected ME.